A Game of Horns: A Red Unicorn Anthology

by Gregory D. Little

  “Boy!”

  Kayden jumped. “Ma’am?”

  Annalise skimmed her fingers across the new skin on her neck, her cheek. “Don’t stand there gawking. We have much to do. They are coming.” She nodded to herself as she strained to rise. “So much to do. And she no more than a slip of a girl. Tough to accept at that age without the proper instruction.”

  Violet jumped to her side and offered her shoulder, which the old woman grasped with an appreciative nod. At the contact, a flash of joy and contentment and righteous purpose flooded Violet’s soul. She bowed under the impact, but quickly righted herself. The sensation lasted no more than a second.

  “Miss Annalise, I—” Kayden hadn’t moved. He wore the same calculating expression he did when the local merchants haggled over the price of wool.

  “Why are you still here? Shoo. Shoo.”

  “Wait.” Kayden stood firm. “I—we—deserve more of an explanation. What’s going on? Who are you? Who is coming?”

  “Kayden!” Winnie yelled from kitchen.

  Shooting an accusing glance at the old woman, Kayden frowned as he strode down the hall.

  Annalise closed her eyes and bowed her head. “Can you feel them?”

  “Feel …what?” But Violet knew the answer, sensed them even as the words left her mouth. “Wolves.” She counted four, slinking between the trees near her parents’ graves. Watching. Waiting. “They’re hungry.”

  “The winter wolves are ravenous, my dear. Never sated, always on the hunt. Come.” Annalise tottered down the hallway. “Let us see what your brother has discovered.”

  Arms crossed, Kayden stood in the kitchen doorway. He’d propped his grandfather’s sword against the table. Winnie, with Rose on her hip, stared out the window, concern etched upon her face.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” Kayden turned to Annalise. “About the wolves.”

  She nodded. “They tracked me here. Almost got me too, the little blighters.” She rubbed the freshly healed wound on her neck again. “I would have died at the edge of your land if you hadn’t found me.”

  “You brought them to my door?” Heat filled Kayden’s words. “To my family?”

  “Yes. And to my family.” She responded in kind, heat for heat. “I have protected this farm for generations. And now—” She turned away. “It’s time for another to take my place.”

  The statement tugged at Violet’s heart.

  Kayden glanced at his sister, his eyes growing wide. “Not Vi. No. I won’t allow it.”

  “Pretty horsey.” Rose pointed out the window. The unicorn had come to the front of the shack and faced the trees. Massive, its blood red coat rivaled the setting sun. Its fiery mane ruffled in the gentle breeze. Its horn, a swirling mix of colors, refracted the sun’s sinking light.

  “He is called Equus, Lord of the Herd.” Annalise’s voice was filled with awe. “I bonded with him when I was young. Together we drive the winter wolves from month to month, place to place.”

  The unicorn’s presence provoked several hunger-filled howls from within the trees. Answering howls echoed through the hills from all around the farm.

  Kayden’s gaze shot to Annalise. “How many?”

  Annalise shook her head. “All of them.”

  Kayden threw up his hands. “All of them?” He glared at the ceiling. “What does that even mean?” He grasped the sword. “All of them. Okay.” He kissed Rose on the top of her head and then laid his forehead against Winnie’s for a long moment. “Barricade the door behind me. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.” He paused, turning his head to the side. “Your crimson beast better stay out of my way.”

  A tear glistened in Annalise’s eye. “It is good to know the same strength and bravery of my son, the man who first bore that sword, courses through your veins.” She smiled, a wistful curve of choices made and regrets best left unspoken.

  Kayden spun. “Your son?”

  Annalise nodded. “But I’m afraid even your blade and the mighty Equus together will not be enough to stem the gray-furred tide. They seek my death.” She crumpled into a chair as if the weight of her years had descended upon her shoulders. “And they can have it.” She looked into Violet’s eyes and patted her hand. “But not quite yet.”

  As the old woman touched her, a strange image blossomed in Violet’s mind—a herd of unicorns, a hundred strong, charged across a dying landscape, trailing hope and renewed life in their wake. At their head rode a young girl, her own mane of golden curls unbound and dancing in the wind like a golden pennant. Ahead ran the pack. Dingy, gray dogs chased the wind, the cold, the snow, devouring all in their path.

  A howl rent the night. Two answered. Four. A dozen.

  The sheep screamed.

  “Can’t you fix this?” Winnie bounced Rose on her hip, her movements harsh and jerky. “Your wounds have healed. You seem hale, your spirit strong. Take them away from here!” Her voice rose as fear took hold. She kissed Rose’s cheek and pressed her to her chest, swaying in time with the lullaby she hummed.

  Gray shapes slinked across the courtyard, into the pen, into the barn, their numbers growing.

  “Fire,” Kayden said. “Fire will drive the wolves away. I’ve used it before. So did my Da.”

  “Yes!” Winnie set Rose down and grabbed one of the kitchen chairs. She nodded for Kayden to grab another. They charged the doorway and smashed the chairs in the courtyard. The unicorn moved closer, seeming to cover their movements, stomping at any wolf brazen enough to approach.

  “More wood!”

  “Get the oil lamp.”

  They grabbed anything that would burn and threw it on the pile.

  “Do you know what’s coming?” Annalise asked Violet.

  She nodded. “It’s not going to be enough, is it? The fire?” A subtle calm gripped her heart. She opened her arms to welcome little Rose and lifted the child into her lap.

  Her brother and his wife scurried about, boots scuffing, knocking over knickknacks and heirlooms in their desperate haste.

  Annalise shook her head. “I’m sorry, hon. It’s your legacy.”

  “Will it hurt?”

  “Hurt?” Annalise’s twinkling laugh drowned out the frantic scuffling. “No, my dear. It’s glorious. Here, take my hand.”

  Violet hesitated, bit her lip. Heart galloping, she took her great-granddame’s hand. A whole world of experiences exploded. New scents, sights, and sounds engulfed her, a riotous instant of magic. Tears streamed down her face and into her mouth opened wide in wonder.

  “Oh, my dear.” Annalise cupped Violet’s cheeks. “The life you’ll live.”

  Kayden grabbed his sword and the oil lamp and joined his wife at the heap outside their front door. He ripped off his shirt. After dousing the pile in oil, he soaked his shirt and handed it to his wife. She held it out while he struck the spark. Once it had ignited, she tossed it away.

  Whoosh.

  The flames licked at the broken chairs, the picture frames, the drawers and tables, rising higher, crackling and popping, bathing the courtyard in fiery orange and keeping the wolves at bay.

  Claws clicked across the rooftop.

  Annalise glanced up. “We don’t have much time. Call him. Call the Lord of your Herd.”

  Panic rose hard and fast. “I don’t … What?”

  “Hush, child. You met him before, only he was sick and out of his mind. He came before you called. If it weren’t for your brother, our legacy would have ended that day. Winter would have claimed the land forever.”

  Yips of pain. Snarls and growls. Kayden grunting with the effort of swinging his sword. The wind blew the heat from the pyre across the kitchen. Sweat trickled down Violet’s temple.

  “Close your eyes, Violet.”

  “Vite! Vite!” Rose planted a sloppy toddler kiss on Violet’s chin.

  “Picture your unicorn. His coat, his horn, the look in his eyes.”

  “I see him.” Violet held the image of the unicorn as it was after Kayden drove th
e sickness out with his sacrifice—pristine white coat, glowing horn, soul-deep wisdom in its dark eyes.

  “Say his name.”

  “I don’t know hi—” A name emerged, whispered from the depth of her soul. She smiled. “Whim.”

  Silence.

  Violet’s heart thumped, strong and rhythmic.

  Another beat, faint in the distance, countered her own.

  “Can you feel him?” Annalise whispered.

  The heartbeats synced—one beat, one purpose.

  Violet breathed, “Yes,” in amazement. “I can. He’s coming.” Excitement bubbled through her system.

  “You are close, but the bond is not complete until you make physical contact.”

  Violet sensed Whim on the other side of the trees. He stomped through attacking wolves, kicking and spearing, fighting his way to her. She jumped to her feet, and the world around her returned.

  Winnie screamed as Kayden went down. Blood seeped through several rents in her dress. She jabbed a kitchen knife at anything that moved, clenching her teeth at every yip. Kayden threw off his attacker and staggered upright. Several deep scratches scored his chest, his arms. Gasping for breath, he swung his sword at the closest gray wolf.

  In front of her parents’ graves, the trees parted. Another unicorn leaped into the fray.

  “Whim!” Heedless of the snapping jaws and fleet attackers, Violet started for the gravesite. A low wall of fur and teeth barred her path. Snarling, heads lowered, they inched closer, forcing Violet back.

  Equus charged in from the left. Knocking the wolves aside like kindling, he opened a path. Violet rushed through, sprinting for the graves and Whim, who fought for his life.

  “Violet!” Kayden yelled.

  Oh, Kayden, be safe. Protect your family.

  A horse whinnied in pain. She spared a glance over her shoulder. Equus was buried under a mound of writhing gray.

  Whim broke free and galloped toward her.

  So close.

  Winnie screamed, “Kayden! No!”

  Violet focused on reaching Whim. She could stop the bloodshed only if she reached Whim. She could save her brother and his family only if she reached Whim. She could stop the wolves of winter only if she reached Whim.

  Gotta run. Gotta, ugh! She kicked a wolf in the snout, clearing her route. Violet stretched out and touched the soft muzzle of her Lord of the Herd. Their souls fused. Within that connection she found the herd, felt their strength, their purity, their expectation. With an instinct born of magic and family and oaths honored, she called them to her.

  And they came.

  Pouring from the forest like an army of ghosts, the luminous herd charged across the hills, covering a mile in an instant. The thunder of their hooves, an earthquake.

  Sensing their ancient foe, the wolves whimpered and melted into the shadows.

  Whim was magnificent. His eyes reflected her destiny.

  With the help of Winnie, Kayden limped to her side. His left arm hung useless. Blood streaked his chest.

  “What have you done?” he asked, desperation in his ragged voice. “Vi, what?” He sank to the ground, exhausted, breath coming in painful gasps.

  Violet knelt and stroked his cheek. “Today was my turn to save you.”

  “What now?” Winnie asked.

  “We chase the wolves,” Annalise answered. “What else?”

  “Vi—”

  Violet wrapped her arms around her brother. “I love you, Kay.”

  With surprising agility, Annalise vaulted onto Equus’s back. The big red limped, favoring his right foreleg. “Time to go. I don’t have much time, a season maybe, no more. I’ll teach you what I can. The first lesson—can’t let the wolves get too far ahead.”

  Violet kissed her brother’s forehead and mounted Whim in a single fluid motion.

  “I’ll see you soon, Kay. Promise.” Violet tapped Whim’s flanks, and they shot off into the night, the herd on their heels, her destiny before her. “Let’s find those wolves. Hyah!”

  About the Author

  Since he was a kid, Scott wanted to be an author. Through the years, fantastic tales of nobility and strife, honor and chaos dominated his thoughts. After twenty years mired in the corporate machine, he broke free to bring those stories to life. When he’s not dragging his Knights through the fire and darkness, look for him on the bowling lanes.

  Scott lives with his wife and two children on the west coast of Florida.

  Look for his debut novel, Knight of Flame, the first book in the Chronicles of the Knights Elementalis, in most major booksellers.

  Customer Hotline

  Josh Vogt

  “Thank you for calling Sinister Summonings, Inc., where we fulfill all your malicious magic needs. This is Athulizagoth, the Gibbering Horror. How may I hex you?”

  “Finally! I’ve been waiting ages to talk to a real live person.”

  “Actually, sir, I’m an undead ghoul. May I ask to whom I’m speaking?”

  “This is Arnol—er … Xavius, Master of the Shadowed Cowls.”

  “Ah, yes. I have your account here. Looks like you’re one of our Sell Your Soul lifetime members. We appreciate your business.”

  “Great, but I’ve got a problem with the hellsteed I summoned from you yesterday.”

  “What seems to be the issue?”

  “It’s a unicorn.”

  “You ordered from our Mythological Mounts line?”

  “Yeah, and I was expecting something more, y’know, hellish. A skeletal stallion. A manticore. A giant bat. Anything but a unicorn.”

  “Are its eyes bursting into flame on command?”

  “Sure, they’ve got the fire thing going on—”

  “Is its coat of a crimson hue, drenched in the bloody tides of war?”

  “It’s nice and red, yes—”

  “Are its horn and hooves formed from polished obsidian, ready to gouge and trample?”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “It sounds like the summoned hellsteed is manifesting within all acceptable parameters.”

  “But unicorns aren’t hellsteeds! Your deal specifically promoted a beast the Devil himself would be proud to sit astride.”

  “Actually, sir, if you read the fine print—”

  “The fine print was written in a daemonic tongue that drives mortals insane!”

  “—It states that summoned steeds can manifest as anything up to a Prince of Darkness-endorsed mount. Actual results may vary.”

  “Look, I’m about to raise an army of minions to bring doom upon my twentieth-year high school reunion. I’ll make those fools pay for mocking me all those years!”

  “A deliciously wicked plan, sir.”

  “But I can hardly enact proper retribution while riding a unicorn—even one with a hot-rod makeover. I’m a master of terror and corruption. Unicorns are symbols of virtue and virginity.”

  “According to our records, you still qualify for that last—”

  “Shut up! Can I at least upgrade my mount?”

  “You could, sir, but that would double your current monthly sacrificial rate, and your summoning subscription isn’t due for a free upgrade until next All Hallow’s Eve. Even if you don’t use the supplied steed, you’ll still be charged a weekly pound of flesh to maintain its presence on the material plane. You could always purchase a secondary hellsteed—”

  “Unacceptable! I’m not paying extra for a service I should’ve received in the first place. If you aren’t going to fix this, then just cancel the summoning and give me a refund.”

  “Dispelling the hellsteed would invoke an early termination penalty.”

  “What’ll that set me back?”

  “Let me check your account.… Looks like we’d have to bump up your contracted death and damnation five years.”

  “I’ve been a loyal customer since childhood. I’ve never been late on a monthly sacrifice, and now you’re telling me I have to pay even more to get out of this damn deal?”

&nbs
p; “Company policy, sir.”

  “That’s monstrous!”

  “Thank you. We do our best.”

  “I want to talk to your supervisor.”

  “She’s currently on break, I’m afraid. If you’d like, I could put you on hold until she gets back.”

  “Which is when?”

  “Well, it’s been a few centuries now …”

  “You know what? You win. I’ll just keep the flaming unicorn.”

  “Very good, sir. As thanks for your eternal loyalty, I’d like to offer you a one-time, half-off deal on the summoning of your minion army.”

  “Really? That’s actually pretty g—hang on. What would they manifest as?”

  “To qualify for the discount, you’d need to choose either a swarm of poisonous butterflies, a flock of flesh-eating ducklings, or a horde of vampiric bunnies.”

  “Hell, no!”

  About the Author

  Josh Vogt’s work includes fantasy, science fiction, horror, humor, pulp, and more. He is the author of Pathfinder Tales: Forge of Ashes, and an urban fantasy series, The Cleaners—Enter the Janitor (2015) and The Maids of Wrath (2016)—all published by WordFire Press. A member of SFWA as well as the International Association of Media Tie-In Writers, you can find him at JRVogt.com or on Twitter @JRVogt.

  The Sharpest Horn

  Travis Heermann

  Squirral tingled under the Queen’s benevolent smile and squeezed the talisman on the leather thong around her neck, a ceramic squirrel worn smooth by her fingers.

  “Do you want to stay here?” The Queen was such a kind woman, with flowing brown curls and the most warmhearted eyes Squirral had ever seen. Seated in repose behind her gilded desk, scepter in hand, the Queen’s presence filled the private audience chamber like the glow of a warm lantern. Flowering vines snaked up the walls of polished alabaster, over her scrying screen, and around the filing cabinets.

  “No! We forbid it!” said Mother.

  The Queen’s gaze flicked between Mother and Father. They had flanked poor Krystal, who could only slump under their gazes. Father clasped his hands between his knees.